


let the future come

by if_i_be_waspish



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, There is a barn, They're in Tennessee, a thing happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 08:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17403926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/if_i_be_waspish/pseuds/if_i_be_waspish
Summary: “River?” His brow furrows in confusion, “Are you alright?” He peers down at her, noticing that she is sitting perfectly still, not moving, “What’s wrong?”She shakes her head, her curls bouncing along her sweater clad shoulder, “Nothing,” she says, but it’s barely above a whisper.Something. “Where are we for you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice because he’s never seen her like this – never seen his River apprehensive, on the verge of what looks to be fear.





	let the future come

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from "Be Here Now" by Mason Jennings:
> 
> _"And let good things happen,_   
>  _and let the future come_   
>  _Into each moment, like a rising sun."_

The Doctor stands in the middle of a field, waving his sonic screwdriver in the air, trying to suss out which way the small but quite nefarious given the chance to mature alien life forms he’s tracking went. His sonic flashes a bit and he glances up at it, following its instruction through the field that currently has grass tall enough to reach his knees. He reaches up to adjust his bowtie before heading in the direction his sonic points him.

He stops for a second to look at his surroundings – trees circle the clearing in which he currently stands, their leaves brilliant hues of reds and oranges with hints of yellow. A chill runs through the air and if he were prone to being cold, he imagines he might feel the bite of the air that throws itself around him.

It’s the beginning of autumn, an early one this year in this part of the universe. Earth, specifically. The Continental US, more specifically. The middle of Tennessee just shy of halfway through the twenty-first century, exactly.

He actually rather hates it here. He dips his head down and follows the path his screwdriver tells him to take. He’d been here once before, to this general spot, but the thing is that it’s just so _boring_ … and the political climate, well. He’s always telling River that this is the _last_ place he’d ever… he shakes his head at that; he’s really got to stop thinking about River so much – he feels a smile flit across his face and shakes his head even harder: when did _that_ start happening? When did he leave behind his urge to run _from_ River Song and develop this burning urge to run _to_ her instead?

A bit unnerved by the thought and how utterly _not frightened_ he feels by it, he makes his way over to the side of a building in the middle of the clearing. It’s a slatted wooden building, red, and quite large. His sonic acts up again and he skirts along the building and around the front until he’s staring at the face of it – it’s tall and rather impressive, white paint on the front: a classic _barn_ if he’s ever seen one, and the Doctor nearly rolls his eyes.

He points his sonic screwdriver at the wooden door – locked, or perhaps stuck – and shakes his head. He really does need to adjust that setting. He reaches out and tugs on the handle, and the door jostles a bit, budging slightly. Stuck, he determines, just as a breeze crawls by and a faint ringing noise comes from overhead. He looks up and sees a set of wind chimes – glass, rainbow colored, and tinkling in the wind. He furrows his brow, thinking it’s a rather _odd_ occurrence for wind chimes to be set up outside a barn in the middle of nowhere.

Before he can contemplate it further, his sonic activates and he tugs on the door again, pulling a bit harder than he did the first time. With a sigh of relief, he feels the door pull open and he points his sonic at the ground as he steps inside.

“Sneaky buggers, think they can get away from me by hiding in a _barn_ of all places,” He mutters to himself as he points his sonic along the edge of the wall of the barn. Curiously, though, the signature for the life form he was tracking has disappeared. Frowning, he taps his sonic screwdriver against his hand, “Rubbish,” he breathes, frustrated as he taps the useless device against his hand, “Might as well go build a cabinet, really,” he huffs, pointing it at the wall again. Nothing.

Suddenly, he hears a throat clear and his head snaps up to notice his surroundings for the first time; he looks for the owner of the throat, but he’s distracted by the inside of the barn. He’s been in quite a few barns in his day, in many different centuries, and he’s hated nearly all of them, especially that one in fifteenth century France – the memory is enough to make him shudder when he thinks about it.

Usually they’re quite smelly and ugly, cold with the faint scent of damp and rotting earth no matter the time of year – filled with dust and critters and just generally unpleasant all around. He hates a barn, usually.

But, _this_ barn is warm and inviting. There are fairy lights strung up along the entirety of the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the rest of the barn. There are hay bales pushed up against the walls with blankets thrown over them like makeshift couches. There are bright colorful rugs spread out invitingly on the floor. They’re mismatched, and the colors look like they shouldn’t go together but they somehow do.

There is a bed in the center of the room with crisp white sheets – not very practical for a barn – but they look pristine from where he’s standing. There’s a wall separating this room from another, with the door closed, and from the pleasant smell emanating around the barn the Doctor would bet it’s a kitchen.

_This_ barn – this barn is _lovely_.

He notices a picnic table out of the corner of his eye and finally turns to look at it – he sees a figure, backlit by the fairy lights and various other handcrafted lamps situated towards the back of the barn.

“Oh,” the Doctor says, shuffling forward a bit farther into the barn – he holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the light, even though it’s dim, trying to make out the figure sitting stock still at the picnic table, “Hello,” he says, stepping forward again – “I’m sorry, I was just –” he’s about to launch into a ridiculous, rambling mess of an excuse when he sees it.

Backlit by the lights, fanning out in an unruly mess he’s learning how to crave: _hair_. Not just any hair – _curls_ – voluminous and lovely, wild and spiraling and _free_. He’d know that hair anywhere by now.

“River?” He asks, smiling as he steps forward and jams his sonic screwdriver into his pocket; again, he wonders when smiling was an automatic response this body developed to River Song, but he doesn’t care because it feels like he hasn’t seen her in _ages_ and now she’s sitting in front of him in this barn in the middle-of-nowhere Tennessee, USA, Earth. “River!” He exclaims, stepping forward and nearly tripping over a rug; he rights himself, adjusts his tweed, and moves closer to the picnic table, “Fancy meeting you here!” He smooths his hand over his hair, cursing himself for not looking in a reflective surface before he left the TARDIS.

“Hello, sweetie,” she greets, her voice low and throaty, but there’s something different about it – apprehension, if he’s not mistaken. He likes to think he knows River Song quite well by now in his timeline, and she sounds different to how she normally sounds when she greets him.

It makes him smile, nonetheless, “Honey, I’m home,” he jokes, spreading his palms up and open as he swaggers a bit closer to the table.

River’s eyes dart to the door – definitely a kitchen from the sound of the pots banging behind it - and then back to him. She smiles at him, but it feels nervous and there is tension thick in the air that he’s positive now he’s not imagining.

“River?” His brow furrows in confusion, “Are you alright?” He peers down at her, noticing that she is sitting perfectly still, not moving, “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing along her sweater clad shoulder, “Nothing,” she says, but it’s barely above a whisper.

_Something_. “Where are we for you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice because he’s never seen her like this – never seen his River apprehensive, on the verge of what looks to be fear.

River clears her throat, “Where are we for _you_ , sweetie?” She returns his question, raising an eyebrow at him.

He pats his jacket – he’s left his diary in the TARDIS, of course, expecting this to just be a quick little jaunt to neutralize a threat to Earth. He doesn’t really need it, though; he’s beginning to see that he can remember details of his encounters with River Song with startling clarity. Someday, when they’ve had even more adventures, he might need it – but for now, every moment spent with her is burned into his mind, as easy to recall as his native tongue even if he hasn’t spoken it in years.

The Doctor’s hand moves up to his mouth and his fingers dance across his lips – they’ve kissed exactly three times now, he and River, and the last one was so full of passion it had nearly knocked him off his feet; he hadn’t expected it, really. Hadn’t felt passion in the longest time. He hadn’t expected… _her_.

“Ah,” River smiles knowingly, and her eyes rake over his body, alighting on his bowtie and traveling downwards before slowly crawling back up, “What are you?” She cocks her head to the side, “Nine hundred and forty?”

The Doctor scoffs, “Hasn’t anyone told you it’s _rude_ to ask a Time Lord’s age?” At River’s snort that seems to say _you, all the time_ , the Doctor rolls his eyes, “Nine hundred and forty _three_ , thank you very much.” He tugs on his lapels, grinning at her. Her eyes widen a little, and his eyes scan her face, “Your turn, then,” he waggles his eyebrows, “I’ve shown you mine, now you show me yours.”

She laughs, tipping her head back as her curls tumble down her shoulders and the Doctor’s mouth goes dry, “You’re still a bit too young for _that_ , I think,” she retorts, letting the innuendo settle in her voice.

The Doctor chokes, feels his face flush, and River looks at him delightedly, her smile bursting across her face – she _loves_ making him blush, and wherever she actually is in her timeline, it appears that hasn’t changed.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something flirty to her – he’s still in the midst of learning _how_ to flirt with her – when a spectacular _crash_ comes from the kitchen, and a muffled voice that sounds vaguely familiar cries out, but he can’t hear what it’s saying. The Doctor’s head snaps to the door, and he takes a step towards it, but River gets up from the corner of the bench where she sits and stands in front of the door, blocking it.

He eyes her face suspiciously, but she leans in to the door, which opens out, making sure whoever is behind it can’t get out and making sure that he can’t get in.

“River?” He asks, and there’s the fear again, ghosting across her face, and he cannot figure out for the life of him what’s wrong – why she’s acting like this.

Her eyes flicker down her body for a moment before they come back up to meet his and she glances forlornly at the picnic table. Confused, the Doctor lets his gaze follow the path hers just took and his eyes widen in shock as he takes a step back. His eyes shoot up to hers and she stares at him now, her eyes just as wide as his.

They continue to stare at each other in silence for a moment, neither one of them ready to speak, neither of them knowing what to say, and then the Doctor’s eyes drop and lock on her stomach.

“River…” He breathes out, shaking his head, confusion and disbelief and a small bubble of what seems to be _anger_ sparking in him, all fighting for top billing.

Because River Song is without a doubt completely and unmistakably _pregnant_. He can’t take his eyes off of her stomach, and he knows his eyes are comically wide, but he can’t help it.

His eyes finally slide over her body again before resting on her stomach – she’s wearing tight trousers – leggings, as they call them in twenty-first century America, and an oatmeal colored sweater that’s baggy and looks quite warm and well-worn, but there’s no hiding how pregnant she actually is.

She looks to be about eight months along – he furrows his brow because, actually, he’s a bit fuzzy on the dynamics of part human/part Time Lord gestational periods in practicum.

“River!” He exclaims, his eyes still focused on her stomach, “You’re… you’re… you’re…” he stammers before gesturing wildly and helplessly at her stomach.

“Yes,” she whispers, and at the tenderness of the word from her lips, the Doctor’s eyes finally move up to meet hers. She’s staring at him with wide eyes, and he swears they look a little wet, though it could be a trick of the fairy lights above them.

“But – _how_?” He shakes his head, trying to wrap his brain around this bit of information he was obviously not prepared for.

The corners of River’s lips quirk up at that the way they do when she’s laughing at him, and she rolls her eyes, “In the usual way, I suppose.”

The Doctor scoffs, staring at her incredulously, his mouth hanging open, “The… the _usual_ way? But – but,” he sighs, fumbling for words; he always fumbles for words around River, but this – _this_ is a new kind of speechless that he’s not used to around her. Around anyone.

River just watches him warily, not saying anything.

“But you and I, we – we – we,” he makes a kissy motion with his mouth, and River smiles at him patiently.

“Yes,” she nods, still watching him carefully.

The Doctor can’t read her right now, can’t tell what she’s thinking, but his hearts are racing in his chest because he’d thought – oh, he’d thought – it doesn’t matter what he’d thought, because he’d been wrong, clearly.

“Well,” the Doctor clears his throat and straightens his bowtie, trying to look unaffected by this information, “Who – who…” he stammers, closing his eyes against the unexpected emotion he feels rising within him.

River smiles then, a gentle smile that curls her lips and her eyes shine as she speaks to him, “Spoilers.” The familiar word rolls off her tongue and the Doctor’s hearts ache in his chest at the sound of it – and that, oh _that_ is definitely new.

“Spoilers,” he whispers the word out, shaking his head, wondering why he feels so bloody disappointed.

It’s just that – he’d thought – well, she’d led him to believe that things were – that there was a connection between them, a relationship that was… and, well, he hadn’t realized that he’d gotten so attached to the idea. Attached to her, really. He’d been running from her for so long, fighting against whatever mysterious pull he felt towards her, and maybe this was why. Maybe some part of him knew it was too good to be true. That _she_ was too good to be true – too good to be true for him, anyway, undeserving as he is.

River’s face softens as she looks at him, his face clearly belying his inner turmoil, and she tilts her head to the side, considering him. The apprehension is still on her face, as is the fear, and the Doctor can’t understand it – he’s done a lot of ridiculous things, but surely he’s never given her a reason to be _scared_ of him.

“Why are you scared, River?” He questions, his voice soft and gentle even in the face of his own fear, suddenly coursing through him rapidly.

“I’m not,” she shakes her head, her gaze dropping to land on his bowtie instead of his eyes.

“Don’t,” he steps closer to her and she presses her back further against the wood of the door, her eyes darting furtively over her shoulder at the door, “Don’t lie to me.”

She swallows, and from this close he _can_ see the tears in her eyes – he hasn’t seen her cry yet, and the sight sets his blood on high alert. He doesn’t like it, the tears welling in her eyes, threatening to fall. Maybe she’s emotional because of her – he doesn’t even know what to call it – condition? current state? – but it physically hurts him to see her so raw and open like this.

“I can’t,” she whispers, “You know I can’t – tell you, I can’t,” she finishes, and the Doctor takes a step back.

He’s heard the word ‘spoilers’ from her lips so many times now, but this time it feels like an insult and he can’t quite figure out why – can’t quite figure out why this time hurts so much more than all of the others. The other times it felt flirty, playful; all those other times, even when frustrated, he secretly loved that she has secrets she’s keeping from him.

But this – this feels like a betrayal, and he can’t seem to wrap his head around why. Surely it’s nothing to do with the _word_ that has been clawing at his back whenever he thinks of River Song lately. The one he’s been avoiding acknowledging, leaving it to stand alone in the middle of his mind, the hot sun beating down on it tirelessly.

Surely he doesn’t _love_ her. Except the ache in his chest seems to tell rather a different story.

“Right,” the Doctor nods, taking a step back from her, “River Song and her _spoilers_ , ladies and gentlemen,” he announces to the empty room, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice even as the fairy lights still twinkle overhead, “I’ll just – I’ll just leave you to it, then,” his eyes dart behind her to the door and he shakes his head again, the disappointment rushing through him like a train he can’t stop, bright and loud and glaring – _painful_.

River glances over her shoulder at the door again, a worried look passing over her face, and the Doctor can take no more – he spins on his heel and heads towards the door of the barn, his eyes focused on the floor to avoid any treacherous rugs. He’s halfway there when he feels a hand around his wrist, soft and warm.

“ _Sweetie_ ,” she whispers quietly, and something about the way she says it stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t turn until she tugs on his wrist, her intention clear. He turns around to face her and her eyes are bright, pleading with him in what suddenly feels like the only language he doesn’t know but desperately wants to learn.

The Doctor sets his jaw, but River steps closer to him and puts her palm against his cheek; he can’t help it, he leans into her touch, nuzzling his face in her palm as her thumb smooths along his cheekbone, whispering his nickname again.

He wants to turn and leave, wants to walk away from this moment and everything it means for him – for them – but he can’t; he doesn’t know how he will ever be able to leave when she’s looking at him like she is now, her eyes so full of emotion – love, longing – and all for him.

It reminds him of the very first time he saw her, and it breaks his hearts in ways he didn’t know possible while at the same time sustaining him – it’s rubbish, actually.

But he’s beginning to long for it. Long for her. And something tells him that even _this_ won’t change that.

So, he doesn’t leave – he just does what he always does when it comes to River now that he’s given up running. He waits.

She eases forward, stepping closer to him, and she smells like pine trees, fresh air, and _time_. Her hand slides down his cheek to his bowtie, and her finger caresses the edge of it, a smile tugging at her mouth as she gazes at it fondly before she slides her hand further down to the lapel of his tweed. Curling her fingers around it, she tugs him forward and down and then her mouth is slanting over his, her lips warm and soft against his mouth.

The Doctor’s hands circle around her, his palms pressing into her lower back as his mouth opens and her tongue slides inside – he can feel her stomach pressing against his, but instead of jumping back at the feel of it, he pulls her body closer into his. He’s consumed with the sudden urge to _mark_ her as his, no matter what happened between her and someone else.

His tongue caresses hers and her taste floods his mouth and he can’t help but moan into her kiss because this River tastes different. She tastes like starlight and _happiness_ , and something else hauntingly familiar that he can’t place, but mostly like happiness, bright and clean, no traces of the ghosts of her past; the realization stuns and hurts him all at once, but he keeps kissing her anyway, his fingers digging into the small of her back, her pregnant belly pressed against his abdomen.

A loud crash from the corner of the barn startles them apart again and the Doctor drops his forehead against River’s, panting and breathless.

“Sweetie,” she says again, her fingers curling gently into his biceps as she moves her head back, “You have to go now,” she whispers, staring at him – pleading with him to do this for her.

The Doctor nods once, “Fine,” he tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he fails again – he can tell by the way River winces.

She doesn’t say anything else though, and he can’t help himself – he leans in and presses a tender kiss to her forehead before he spins on his heel and heads out of the barn, refusing to look back at her and doing his best not to slam the heavy barn door, but failing a little bit on that as well.

He’s halfway back to his TARDIS when he suddenly remembers the alien life forms he was chasing in the first place. With a sigh, he stops in the middle of the field, the sun descending quietly behind the trees, and makes his way slowly and solemnly back to the barn. His sonic is out, ready to track, but it stays silent even when he arrives at the barn door.

The door is cracked open a bit, likely a result of his slamming it, and he points his sonic in to the barn, but it still says silent. He knows he should leave, but the curiosity burns inside of him and he watches River, once again seated at the picnic table, a clear mug of what appears to be hot cocoa sitting in front of her.

She looks happy, at peace and at the same time that he feels glad of that, he also feels _jealous_ because try as he might have to run from his future with her in the beginning, he’d wanted to be the one to make River happy. He’d wanted to be the one to ease her past out of her memories, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to let that go. To let _her_ go, when the time comes – sooner than he’d thought, apparently.

Just as he’s contemplating sullenly walking back to his TARDIS, the Doctor hears the kitchen door start to jiggle and River turns to face the door, a soft smile on her face. The Doctor knows he shouldn’t watch this, that he’s invading her privacy, but he can’t help it – he has to _know_ , and he watches with rapt attention as the door finally opens all the way, banging against the bar with a loud _crack_ that startles River at the same time it makes her laugh. The sound of her laughter is loud and crisp and bright, and it sounds like every good day he’s ever had.

Someone stumbles through the door, two large plates in hand and the Doctor narrows his eyes, ready to mutter under his breath and turn away in anger when he suddenly realizes that he’s looking at… at _himself_.

His jaw drops open as he looks at himself now in the barn with River – he’s clearly older, he can see faint lines around his eyes even from here and a bit of grey edges his temples, but he’s got a red bowtie on and he’s wearing his trusty tweed, sans fez unfortunately. But he does have a rather remarkable pink frilly apron tied around his neck and behind his back.

River looks at the older him with such fondness even as she shakes her head, “Nice apron, sweetie.”

He glances down at the apron he’s wearing, his brow furrowed, “Hey,” he points at her with a plate in his hand, “Aprons are cool.”

River snorts, “Sure they are.”

“You came to _love_ my fez,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Outside the barn, the Doctor stifles a yell of triumph – he _knew_ River liked his fez, despite her obvious aggression towards it. He always did think the lady doth protest too much.

“ _Love_ is a bit of a strong word when what you really mean is _begrudgingly accept_.”

Future Him laughs, and then stares at her sheepishly and _blimey,_ is that what he looks like when he’s contrite? “River, you’re going to want to stay out of the kitchen for awhile – maybe even a couple of days, okay? If you need anything, you just tell me and I’ll – because, see, there was a bit of an accident and well, two small fires but I’ve stopped them and opened one of the back doors so the smoke clears out and,” He holds out a plate full of what appears to be food, “Chicken cacciatore.”

River’s face scrunches up, and she suddenly looks a bit pale as she looks at the plate and then glances away; she bites her lip and then reaches for the plate, still not looking directly at it.

The Doctor pulls the plate back, staring at her, “Oh no. The craving passed?” He walks over to the bar lining the back corner of the bar, sets the plate down, and pulls out a package from a cubby, then plucks a jar from the counter presenting both items to River with a flourish and a sigh, “You can’t live on Oreos and Nutella forever, you know.”

River shakes her head, grinning as she takes the items from him, “You’re just mad because they’re not jammie dodgers.”

She opens the jar of Nutella and the package of Oreos and dips the cookie into the hazelnut spread, smiling happily as she brings it to her lips. She takes a bite and hums in delight, and the Doctor outside the barn feels the emotion swell and then break in his chest because in this moment she looks like he’s never seen her before: she looks unbearably _happy_.

And so does _he_. From his vantage point outside, he can scarcely see the ghosts in the eyes of his future self and he wonders where they’ve gone. Surely, he has more _then_ than he does _now_ , and yet there is a peace about him. The sadness doesn’t roll off of him in palpable waves, doesn’t threaten to choke anyone nearby with the weight of the sorrow.

_Is_ that _what River is to him_? _Is that what she does for him_?

Even as he asks the questions, he knows the answers. Part of him has known since the moment he met her.

Inside the barn, still illuminated by the soft glow of fairy lights, his future self leans against the bar in the corner and watches River with a gentle smile on his face, “Remember when I used to tell you that this spot was the _last_ place I’d ever want to spend some time?”

River laughs as she reaches for another Oreo and swirls it in the Nutella, “Yes, sweetie, I do.”

“Funny – now it’s one of my favorite places in the entire universe. This barn, with you.” He’s looking at her with a smile and with a fondness his younger self hadn’t seen on his own face in centuries – with a look he’s maybe _never_ seen on his own face – and he shakes his head, “I was so…” he trails off, looking for the word.

River arches her brow, “You _were_?” At his look, River laughs, “ _Are_.”

The Doctor splutters a bit, scoffing before he turns a bit red, “Well…” he clears his throat, “At least I know what to do with you now.”

River sensually licks the Nutella from the exterior of the Oreo, “Is that right?”

The Doctor steps forward; standing in front of her now, he reaches out and runs a hand over her swollen belly, “Well – _yeah_.”

River smirks at the Doctor, his hand still resting on her stomach, “Prove it, then,” Her voice holds a challenge – it’s sensual and sexy and so very _River_.

The Doctor inhales sharply, drumming his fingers lightly on her stomach, “Is it safe?”

She snorts, “Of course it’s safe, you sentimental idiot.”

Grinning, the Doctor spreads River’s legs at the knees and then steps between them. He plucks the Oreo from her hand and tosses it on the table. It skitters to the edge and then stops before it tumbles to the ground but neither of them notices, solely focused on each other.

The Doctor cups her chin and then traces his hand along her jaw line, bringing one hand to rest on her knee before he bends his head and kisses her. It looks soft, sweet, tender – there is a carefulness about it that surprises his younger self at the same time it tightens something in his stomach and he recognizes it immediately, though he hasn’t felt it in what feels like more than three lifetimes: _yearning_.

She loops her arms around his neck, kissing him back as his hands splay out over her back. After a long moment, the Doctor pulls away, resting his forehead against hers before he grins – _smirks_ , more like – and drops his head to her neck. His hand travels up and gently cups her breast, his thumb swiping over her nipple.

Outside the barn, the younger Doctor stares in rapt attention as a blush steals across his face. He hasn’t… _touched_ River like that, not yet. Certainly, he’s thought of it – reluctantly, mostly, until very recently. But it’s been burning in the back of his mind, what she could be to him, what he could be to her and seeing _this_ , this intimate moment between them but _not_ them scares and excites him.

Inside the barn, the Doctor’s lips trail down River’s sternum, then over the swell of her breasts before he kisses down her clothed stomach and then sinks to his knees, arranging himself so he is perfectly positioned. He looks up at her and River smiles at him, dropping a hand to his head and carding her fingers gently through his hair.

“Sweetie,” she whispers, and he’s never heard that nickname fall from her lips with so much _love,_ so much _reverence._

The Doctor doesn’t respond, just pushes her sweater up a bit as he drags her leggings off as she tilts her hips up to let him. He tosses them on the ground behind him and then his head disappears underneath her long sweater, more like a dress really. River gasps in pleasure and drops her head back, curls spilling down her back as her hand tightens in the Doctor’s hair.

Outside, the Doctor turns away – he feels too much like a voyeur, even though it’s his own self he’s watching. _He_ hasn’t had River like that yet, hasn’t seen her undone at the touch of his hand, his tongue. He hasn’t…

He shakes his head, moving quietly away from the barn door as he hears River let out a small wanton moan that snakes into his blood.

As he makes his way along the edge of the field, heading back to his TARDIS, he understands the fear he saw in her eyes now. The chimes hanging outside of the barn sing with the will of the wind, carrying a soft and erratic tune across the field, and it’s so clear to him.

River was afraid of erasing a future that clearly makes her – and him – so very happy. And he should have known that the _only thing_ that would scare her so much is losing him.

It’s what scares him most these days, too – losing her. And he knows he someday will, but before that – before any of that, he gets to _have_ her the way no one else does. He gets to _give her_ what no one else does – and he gets to have it for himself, too, finally after all these years.

_A home_.


End file.
